


Waking Up To A Bad Dream

by Treon



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treon/pseuds/Treon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up to a reality where he was never caught, Neal tries to get Peter to believe him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up To A Bad Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was my first ever fic, written as a one-off story which I never intended to continue.
> 
> This entire fic is somewhere between a WIP and a series, and I cannot promise it will ever end with a satisfactory ending.

Neal tightened his grip on the briefcase he was holding. He had set up the meet in a small art gallery. It was early afternoon and there was nobody else around besides him and their current target, a shifty art buyer from the Hawthorne gallery who sidelined in stolen art. The sting's target unrolled a painting. He looked at Neal, then dropped his gaze. "This is it."

Neal put down the briefcase, and turned to examine the painting the man had put before him. It was beautiful, and worth more than the 250 grand he had offered for it. Long moments of silence passed as Neal carefully authenticated the painting. It didn't help that the other man was fidgety, which was never a good sign.

"Well?" The target finally asked.

Neal looked up from the painting and smiled. "Looks legit. Your money." He handed over the briefcase and added the takedown phrase as he started rolling up the painting. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for this painting."

"You don't know how long I've been waiting to sell it." Now that the deal was done, the target looked relieved. Not for long, Neal thought to himself.

On cue, Peter's team burst in, flashing badges and guns. "FBI!" "Hands on your head!"

As usual, Neal moved out of the agents' way.

"Where do you think you're going?" One of the agents stopped him mid-step and pushed him back.

"I'm just-" Neal waved vaguely towards the exit.

"I said hands on your head!"

Neal blinked at him for a moment, his brain trying, and failing, to process this turn of events.

"Hands on your head. Now!" All guns were pointed at him.

Neal raised his hands just enough to ward off the guns and flashed a calming smile. "Guys, you have the wrong guy."

"Oh, we definitely have the right guy."

Somebody grabbed the painting from his hands, and then his arms were wrenched behind his back and cuffed.

Neal craned his neck to find one of the senior agents. He spotted Peter arriving,tried to catch his attention. But Peter didn't notice, instead he stopped by their target and.. gave him a pat on the back? What kind of setup was this?

Peter approached their prisoner, finally saying the words he had dreamed of saying for close to a decade. "Neal Caffrey. You're under arrest."

He expected a witty retort from the con-man, but Caffrey stood there looking.. shell-shocked. "Peter, if this is a joke, it's not funny."

 

===

 

"So how does that work.. you working for us?"

They were back in the FBI offices, Caffrey in the interrogation room. The con-man had first treated his arrest as one big practical joke, but he had calmed down by now. Reality must be starting to seep in. Or not. He still claimed he was a CI for the FBI.

Caffrey barely blinked under Peter's stare. "For you."

"So you said." A moment of silence stretched between them before Peter added, "humor me."

Caffrey looked around the room, as if looking for ghosts. "Are these really necessary?" he finally asked, indicating his cuffed hands.

"Yes. Now answer the question."

"I'm serving out the rest of my sentence under your supervision."

"So we just let a convict run around. Freely."

Caffrey actually looked pained answering. "You have me on a monitoring anklet."

"An anklet you clearly don't have right now," Peter pointed out.

"Yes, but that's bec-" Neal stopped, grasping at a sudden idea. "The takedown. You gave me a GPS watch instead."

Peter produced the watch from the evidence box on the table. "This watch?"

"Yes!"

Peter smiled carefully. "Do you know how long it took us to bait you to steal that watch?"

Neal stared at him. "No.. no, no, no. You gave me the watch for the takedown, Peter."

"We have hours of tape on you, showing off your little FBI trophy to your friends."

"What?! No, you gave me that watch." Neal took a deep breath. "Peter, we work together, you..." Peter could see he was at a loss for words. "You have a dog, Satchmo."

Peter just waved that off, but Caffrey was on a roll. "El named him, because she's into jazz. And you have that code between you, when you say 'hon' before you-"

Peter rounded the table so fast, Caffrey had no time to react. Peter dragged the cuffed prisoner out of his chair, and against the wall. "How dare you bring my wife into this?"

"Peter, you, you invited me into your home. I was by you just yesterday."

"I think I would remember inviting a criminal like you into my home."

And for the first time, Peter saw the expression he'd been waiting for. That flash of fear when a prisoner suddenly realizes he's not going to be waltzing out of the FBI offices by throwing around more money or charm.

But there was something off about this one. Slowly he let his hands fall away. "Sit down."

 

======

 

Huddling with Diana and Jones by the coffee machine, Peter pondered the steam wafting up from his freshly brewed cup. The takedown was so smooth, why couldn't things stay that way? "I can't figure out what he's trying to do."

"He's keeping to his story?"

"Yes. It's quite impressive, really. But it must be some sort of angle he's playing."

"Insanity?" Jones suggested.

Peter sighed. "Maybe. If he doesn't drop it soon, we'll have to call for a psych-eval. Jones, I want you to send a team to my house, scan for any wiretaps." He turned to look at the interrogation room. Through the transparent walls he could see Caffrey was deep in thought, staring at some blank spot on the wall. "Diana, go in there, uncuff him, get him something to drink, and play along with whatever he says. See how much you can get him to confess to."

Diana looked amused. "You want me to play the good cop?"

"Just this once." Peter sighed, he wasn't up for banter. "I heard he was good, but I didn't realize how good."

"What do you mean?"

"I know he's lying, and yet he almost got me convinced."


	2. A Ray of Light

Neal looked up when Diana entered the interrogation room, carrying a notebook in one hand and a mug of steaming coffee in the other. "Thought you might want a drink."

She dropped the notebook on the table, placed the mug in front of Neal, and produced keys from her pocket. "Come on," she gestured for him to bring his cuffed hands forward.

Freed of the cuffs, Neal shook his wrists. No matter how many times he found himself arrested and cuffed, he could never get used to it. Reaching for the mug, he shook his head with a quick chuckle.

"What?"

"First time we met, you told me to get my own coffee."

"When was that?" She gamely took a seat across from Neal and flipped her notebook open. Peter had told her to play along and get Neal to confess.

"It was my first case helping the FBI, going after the Dutchman."

Diana nodded. "Right. The Dutchman."

Neal looked at her for a beat, then turned to look out towards the bullpen. Peter was standing there, talking with Hughes. Neal didn't need a soundtrack - by the amount of smiles and back-patting it was clear Peter was enjoying his moment in the sun.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"I'd like to believe you, Neal, I'd really do."

"You think I'm just making it up?"

"I don't know." Diana shrugged noncommittally. "Why don't you tell me more? How did you start working for the FBI?"

Neal closed his eyes for a moment. "You once told me you felt responsible for Charlie's death."

Diana stiffened. "I never told anybody about Charlie."

"Well, you told me." Neal's eyes shone at the memory. "We were in this hotel, undercover, and we were conning this crooked politician, and.." he wasn't sure how much to tell about that op, "and we got to talking."

Neal fell silent as he considered the fact that his memories were his alone. But he could see the wheels in Diana's mind spinning. Just like Peter, trying to make sense of it all. "I swear, I'm not making this up."

Diana looked at him for a long moment. He was good, she had to give him that, but she didn't believe him. How could she? Peter had been chasing this guy for over nine years, and she'd been on his team for most of that time. "Let's take this one step at a time, OK? You say you're working for the FBI."

Neal inhaled deeply. "Yes."

"How did that come about?"

"I made a deal with Peter, I'll work for you in exchange for getting out of jail."

Diana looked up from her notes. "Why were you in jail?"

And so it went. Question after question. It seemed the next few hours were filled with them. The agents alternated their interrogation shifts every hour or so, but there was only one Neal, and they weren't about to give him a break. It was another thing that Neal really didn't miss about getting arrested. And the worst part of it was that this was just the beginning.

======

Hours later, Peter finally called it a day. Neal was to be transferred to the Marshals for the night, with a promise to be returned bright and early for another round of interrogations tomorrow.

Back in cuffs, Neal was led by Peter towards the elevator banks. One elevator had just disgorged its passengers and was about to close and continue on its way. Peter's attention was elsewhere, turning to look at a file one of the probies had brought over.

Seizing the opportunity, Neal tripped, throwing himself at the floor and freeing himself of Peter's hold. Then, before the agent could respond, he was already on his feet. Running into the elevator he smashed his hands on the uppermost floor button. Then hit the 'close door' button until the elevator doors closed. His heart beat wildly as the elevator finally moved. He made it! Now to get the cuffs off.

Peter got to the elevator just as the doors closed, too late to stop it from moving.

Damn, damn, damn. "Contact security. I want this building on lock-down Jones take a team to the lobby, and make sure he doesn't leave." Peter looked at the floor numbers. Neal was going up. "And get those elevators shut down."

It was a disappointing end to a disappointing day. Peter wasn't looking forward to a cat and mouse chase through the building, but if that's what Caffrey wanted, that's exactly what he was going to get. The only way the con-man was going to be leaving the building was in cuffs and leg-irons.

The elevator was empty by the time Peter arrived at the top floor. The agents quickly spread out, but it didn't take a genius to figure out where Neal had gone. The door to the stairs leading up to the roof was hanging open.

When Peter burst through the door to the roof, Neal was already standing on the ledge surrounding the roof, looking out towards the city.

Peter holstered his gun, signaling the other agents who spread out behind him to lower their weapons. Slowly, he took a few steps forward. "Neal.. you don't want to do this."

"What choice do I have, Peter?" Neal turned to look at the agent. Peter froze in place. "Nobody believes me. You, Diana.."

"Come down here and we'll talk about it." Peter mentally judged the distance between them. He was too far to respond if Neal tried jumping.

"I think we've talked enough."

"Neal, come on, you-"

He paused mid-sentence when Neal took a running leap.. and jumped.

"Damn." Peter ran over to the ledge, expecting to see the worst. He couldn't spot anything down below. But then his eyes caught a flash of movement on the next roof over. It was Neal, scrambling to his feet and hobbling away. For just a split second, Peter was relieved. But then reality set in. Caffrey had managed to escape. "Get me eyes in the sky! Now!"

======

It was late by the time Peter finally came home. NYPD and the Marshals were still out there, looking for the missing fugitive, though with every passing hour Peter was starting to realize that it might already be too late. He'd blown it.

He'd just stepped into his foyer when his cellphone rang. "Burke." He hoped for good news.

"Peter."

Peter's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Neal's voice. He should have known Caffrey would call to gloat. He'd done it so many times before. "Neal. That was a neat trick you pulled today."

"I just want things to be back the way they were."

Peter frowned. He'd really expected more from the kid. "You can't run forever, Neal."

On the other end of the line, Neal hesitated. "No. I mean, I want to go back to being your CI."

Peter wasn't sure why Caffrey was still keeping to his story. "OK, you've had your fun, I-"

"I'll turn myself in to you, tonight, if you'll check out the possibility."

Peter couldn't believe Neal was serious. "Neal.."

"Come on, Peter. Do I have your word?"

"I can't promise anything."

"You can promise to look into it."

"Fine, I'll look into it." It was an empty promise and Peter hoped Caffrey knew it too. He wasn't sure why, but he'd feel bad disappointing the kid. "Provided you turn yourself in tonight."

"Deal."

Peter glanced at his watch. "Be at the bureau in an hour, I'll meet you there." But the beep-beep-beep of his phone told him that Neal had already hung up. "Neal?"

Peter dropped the phone on his kitchen table. As if losing the biggest catch of his career wasn't enough, he'd let himself be conned once again. How stupid could he be?

A knock at the door interrupted his self-castigation. He opened the door and froze. Neal was standing outside, his suit scuffed and torn from today's adventures, but otherwise in one piece. "You said you wanted to talk?"

Peter moved aside for him to enter. "Yes. Let's talk."


	3. On The Run

Peter was sitting in his office when the phone rang. He downed the last of his coffee, thinking he'll have to get himself a new cup soon. "Burke."

"Agent Burke, this is Director Thompson, U.S. Marshals. You're already updated on the news?"

"What news?"

"Neal Caffrey escaped this morning."

Peter almost choked. "What?! Why wasn't I notified earlier?"

"Truth is, we thought we'll have him locked up again within the hour."

"And when was that?" Peter clicked a news site open. Neal's face was staring right back at him, under a 'FELON ESCAPES!' headline. He'd flipped through the morning paper and hadn't seen anything, so obviously Neal's escape had been too late to make the print news.

"Just after breakfast, around seven this morning. We didn't think he could get far."

Peter got a sinking feeling. "How far did he get?"

"He stole a utility van. Twenty minutes ago it was found by the Port Authority outside JFK."

"So he's probably already on his way to some tropical island. What do you want from me?"

"Can you come up to Sing Sing to consult? We'd like to make sure we cover all our bases."

They wanted to make sure they'll have somebody else to blame. But Peter just nodded. "Fine. I'm on my way."

#

Neal stood across the street from the Burke's brownstone, hidden behind a large tree. A chilly wind was blowing, reminding him that he still had to find appropriate clothing for the Outside World. He'd never thought he would have an opportunity to carry out his prison escape a second time. In retrospect, knowing that he'd carried it out once successfully hadn't made it much easier.

Finally the moment he was waiting for came: Elizabeth came outside and into her car. Neal held himself back from approaching her. Best case, she wouldn't know who he was. Worst, she'd know too well. Either way, he'd probably find himself back in Sing Sing before lunch.

He waited till the car made a turn further down and disappeared before he crossed the street. The spare key was right where he expected it to be, hidden in a fake stone. Neal found it comforting to know that some things never changed. Once inside he locked the door behind him, pocketing the key.

Peter liked to bring home case-files, and Neal was counting on the fact that he might find some. Moving about the empty house, he searched through the dining room, and was about to go into the kitchen when he came face to face with a growling Satchmo. Maybe some things did change. "Hey, good boy, come on, you know me, right?" Neal smiled at the dog just as he would to any mark, speaking in quiet, placating tones. Satchmo didn't seem very placated.

"Don't remember me, uh, Satchmo?" He lifted his hands to show he meant no harm.

The dog tensed and growled low in his throat.

Neal had no other choice. He made a run for it.

Up the stairs.

The dog followed right at his heels.

He headed for the one place he had in mind to check anyway. Running into the Burk's bedroom upstairs, Neal quickly shut the door behind him. Satchmo barked and growled, but at least he was on the other side of the door. Catching his breath, Neal turned back to the task he'd come for. He found two FBI files on Peter's nightstand. He flipped through them, just to make sure, and then stuck them under his shirt.

It was time to go.

Opening the widow, Neal surveyed the area. He was out of practice, but the drain pipe was close enough. He reached out for it, testing its strength. He'd just have to make a quick job of it before one of neighbors happened to look out the window and see him.

Sitting on the windowsill, Neal was about to go for it, but then realized he was missing one thing. A minute later he was back at the window, now warmly dressed in one of Peter's sweaters.

#

Flanked by both the prison warden and the marshal, Peter was shown to Neal's cell. It was rather empty, the walls were completely bare.

"We didn't touch anything." The Warden, Haskley, picked up on Peter's unasked question.

Neal didn't plan on staying here for long, Peter realized.

"How did he do in prison?" Peter had never really asked Neal that question. He vaguely wondered if he should have.

"Well, he got himself the name as the go-to guy for anything you wanted. I searched his cell multiple times looking for contraband, couldn't find a thing." Haskley shook his head ruefully. "I suspect he used one of those times to pick my wallet."

Peter could believe it. He flipped through the couple of books Neal had on a little shelf. Nothing interesting there.

He was about to leave when Haskley added. "We found a razor in the staff bathroom. He shaved right before he escaped."

Peter frowned at that. "Neal doesn't have a beard." He couldn't imagine him sporting one.

Haskley smiled grimly. "He did the day he escaped."

#

Sitting in the Warden's office, Peter reviewed the taped surveillance of the prisoners. It didn't take long to figure out when Neal stopped shaving, when he'd started planning his escape.

And Peter knew exactly what else happened that day.

Every Monday, like clockwork, he got a call from Neal. That day was no different.

"Hey, Peter."

Peter had a thousand things on his to-do list. And yet he found that he'd been waiting for the call. "Neal, how are you doing?"

He'd been standing in line for close to an hour, waiting for his turn at the public phone. He wasn't going to waste it on chit chat. "Anything new?"

Peter sighed. He'd promised Caffrey he'd look into the possibility of releasing him on early parole as a CI. He'd even followed up on it, and put in a request. 

Unsurprisingly, it was rejected out of hand. Neal was extremely naive if he truly believed anybody would agree to have a convict like him back on the streets less than a month after he'd been sentenced for multi-million dollar cons. "Yeah, I-" Peter grappled for the proper words, finally deciding to go with the brutal, honest truth. "Neal, it's not going to happen. When the time comes I'll speak with the parole board, and then we'll see."

Neal clenched the phone receiver. Peter couldn't be serious. "I won't be up for parole for seven years at least."

"You didn't expect them to release you immediately, did you? You've got to pay for your crimes first." Peter realized the younger man was frustrated, but what did he expect? And why did Peter feel so guilty about it? "Look, Neal. You knew it was a long shot, right?"

Neal took a moment to collect himself before answering. He'd given the FBI a full confession on the basis of Peter's promise. "Yeah, right."

"OK. So you'll be OK with that?"

Neal's voice was light when he answered. "Sure, I'll be just fine."

And that was the last he'd heard of Neal Caffrey. At the time he figured Neal had realized he couldn't con the agent so easily and gave up. Turned out he was wrong.

#

El's phone rang as she was driving. It was Peter. "Hey, Hon."

"El, you're at home?"

"Just driving up now. Why?"

"One of the criminals I locked up escaped this morning. I don't think there's any reason to worry, but-"

"You think he's going to come after you?" El's concern was clear over the line.

Peter didn't want to scare his wife, but Neal had intimate knowledge of their life. He had probably been stalking them for a while before he was caught. And having a guy like that back on the street, especially one that had it in for Peter, wasn't comforting. Even if Neal was considered non-violent.

"I think he's a desperate man," Peter carefully chose his words. "I already sent a squad car to keep watch, just in case, and I'd like somebody to be with you too."

"You're kidding."

He wasn't.

#

"Are you nuts?!" Mozzie looked at Neal in complete shock. "You've got every law enforcement agency in the New York area out looking for you."

They were in one of Mozzie's safe houses. It wasn't exactly a 'house', more like a backroom of a run-down factory, but it meant that Neal was as safe as he possibly could while still in the city. What Mozzie couldn't understand was why Neal planned on staying, especially since Mozzie had gone to great lengths to secure an escape route. "Your face is on every news broadcast since this morning. You're going to be picked up the minute you stick your nose out."

Mozzie had picked up burgers on the way over - a treat Neal was devouring before his very eyes. The wanted convict had skipped breakfast that morning in favor of his escape, and now that the adrenalin was out of his bloodstream, his body was screaming for nourishment.

"Look, I told you." Neal said between bites. He was reviewing the files he'd picked up at Peter's house. "I've got to make Peter understand."

"Peter." Mozzie looked at him askance. "You mean the Suit who sent you to jail."

"Same guy." Neal had given Mozzie the bare-bones version of events. Surprisingly enough, his friend had accepted it without question, but this did not mean he was happy with Neal's plans.

"You realize that once they have you back in jail, you won't get another chance to escape."

"I don't plan on going back."

"You didn't plan on going in either."

Neal didn't like to admit it, but Mozzie was right. He had thought he had Peter convinced. Obviously it required more than just talk. He had to show Peter that he could be a useful crime solving asset.


	4. Helping Out

  
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Mozzie announced.  
  
"I thought you wanted to do this," Neal replied.  
  
Mozzie threw him a dirty look.  
  
'This' was breaking and entering into the apartment of Peter's top suspect in a real-estate fraud case. They were both wearing technicians' uniforms, so they wouldn't look suspicious walking around the building. Neal was carrying a toolbox.  
  
It was all part of Neal's grand plan. He was going to help the Suit solve his case, the idea being that the Suit would be so grateful, he would forget Neal was an escaped prisoner with another ten years to go on his sentence, and instead would give him an opportunity to work for the FBI.  
  
Mozzie couldn't see how that was  _possibly_  going to work.  
  
After reviewing Peter's file, the same file Neal had  _stolen from the Suit's house_ , Neal had decided it would be a good idea to break into the suspect's place and lay hands on some real hard evidence.  
  
Mozzie thought it was an amazingly bad idea to break into a place that was most likely under Suit surveillance. "You're just going to get yourself caught," he had argued. But it was like talking to the wall. Neal had his mind set. Despite all his misgivings, Mozzie wasn't about to let him go alone.  
  
So here they were, in a small apartment in Brooklyn. Neal flicked the lights on, and Mozzie turned to examine the room. According to the file, the owner, one Zack Milton, worked as an assistant manager at a nearby furniture shop, and it looked like he was doing quite well for himself. Mozzie picked up a little statue of an elephant, but before he could drop it into his satchel, Neal put a hand on his find. "Come on, we don't have time for this."  
  
"Then what  _do_  we have time for?"  
  
"We need to find evidence, remember?"  
  
" _We_  don't need to find-" Mozzie broke off at the silent begging in his friend's eyes. "Fine." With a small sigh of regret, he put his elephant down. He'll try to grab it later. "So, what are we looking for?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Neal admitted.  
  
"Of course." Why was he not surprised?  
  
"But," Neal continued, "if he's really into selling properties, he must have a database somewhere." Deciding there was nothing in the living room area, Neal headed down the corridor, to check the other rooms.  
  
"If?!" Mozzie hurried after Neal.  
  
Neal wasn't really listening. "Or maybe a map," he continued musing, "that would be useful."  
  
"How about a signed confession? I  _always_  keep one of  _those_  around."  
  
Neal ignored the sarcasm. The corridor ended in a little bathroom and a bedroom. Neal gave the bathroom a quick once-over and then focused his attention on the bedroom. A small desk was situated by the far wall and he knelt by it, pulling out the drawers to inspect their contents. They contained knickknacks, nothing of interest. The bottom one was locked. Neal picked it, but it turned out to be empty.  
  
"Damn." Neal stood up, glancing around. "Maybe he's got a safe somewhere?"  
  
Mozzie had another idea. "Or maybe we're barking up the wrong tree?"  
  
Neal hated to admit it, but Mozzie could be right. "Maybe he's hiding it in plain sight."  
  
"Or maybe-"  
  
Mozzie quieted down at the sound of the lock rattling at the front entrance. He exchanged a quick, panicky look with Neal. They had waited till Milton left his apartment, and it had looked like he was going out for the evening. Seems his evening plans hadn't turned out like he'd planned.  
  
Neal put a finger to his lips in silent warning. As if Mozzie needed one.  
  
He pulled Mozzie along towards the coat closet by the entrance.  
  
"Seriously?!" Mozzie whispered as Neal pushed him in.  
  
"Ssshhh!"  
  
Not a moment too soon, because the owner of the apartment finally managed to unlock the door and come in. He frowned when he noticed the lights were on, but then shrugged it off.  
  
For the next hour, Neal and Mozzie listened behind the closet door as Milton popped himself a beer and settled down to watch a game. Finally, Neal decided to risk it. He slowly opened the door and stuck his head out. Milton had fallen asleep, his head lolled back on the couch.  
  
But before they could exit their current 'prison', Milton's phone rang. His eyes flew open and he reached for his phone. "Yeah?"  
  
Mozzie started mumbling under his breath that they'll be stuck there forever, but Neal shushed him again. Milton was talking business. "Yeah, you're still there? I've got a property to offer you. You can't get prices like these inside the city anymore, I'm telling you." A pause as he listened to the other side. "Yeah sure. How about Sunday? Yeah, at four. Yeah. I'll give you the address. Are you writing this down?"  
  
In the darkness of the closet, Neal grinned.  
  
  
#  
  
It was late at night, but Peter was still in the office, attending yet another endless meeting about the missing fugitive. After updates from the Marshals, FBI, NYPD and Port Authority Police, all of which amounted to 'nothing new', the lead marshal on the case looked over at Peter. "What do you think, Burke?"  
  
"I think that if he's smart - and Caffrey is smart - he won't be hanging around here for us to catch him."  
  
"Since we didn't catch him at any transit station, we have to assume that he might still be in town."  
  
And so it went.  
  
They were discussing maps (again), when Peter's phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. Happy to have an excuse to get out, he wasted no time heading out. Once the door shut behind him, he answered, "Burke."  
  
"Peter, it's me."  
  
It was Neal. The same fugitive they were after. Peter debated whether he should go back into the conference room, put the call on speaker. But he feared the conman would pick up on it.  
  
"Where are you, Neal?"  
  
Neal didn't bother with that question. "I want to help you, Peter."  
  
"Good," Peter replied. "Turn yourself in, Neal."  
  
"Are you writing this down? This Sunday, 4pm." Neal rattled off an address.  
  
"Whoa, hold on." Peter searched his pockets for a pen. Not finding available paper, he wrote the address down on the palm of his hand. "What is this about? You're going to be there?"  
  
"You're going to get your collar." Was all he got in reply.  
  
"Are you in New York?"  
  
But the call went dead.  
  
  
#  
  
Sunday, the FBI set up surveillance at the address Neal had given them. Peter and Diana were in the van, keeping watch on the footage coming in. They still had some time before 4pm, but Diana didn't take her eyes off the monitors. "Think he'll show?"  
  
"No idea," Peter admitted. He thought he knew Neal Caffrey, but the last few weeks - he just didn't know anymore. Something was going on, but he was missing a piece of the puzzle, maybe even most of the puzzle. Nothing made sense.  
  
"You know, when I interrogated Caffrey..." Diana trailed off.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"He knew things I never told anybody."  
  
"He's a con-man." Peter glanced at her. "It's what he does."  
  
"Read other people's minds?"  
  
Peter chuckled. "He knows how to read people and he knows how to put two and two together. That's all he needs to convince you he knows what he's talking about. Like figuring out El named Satchmo. Obviously somebody's into jazz, and since he knows it's not me, it must have been El. It's actually rather simple."  
  
"Yeah." Diana thought back to what Caffrey had told her. She had never told anybody that she felt responsible for Charlie's death. But Caffrey could have discovered the story of her bodyguard. It wasn't a secret. All it took was some digging through old newspapers. And then, she supposed, it was a logical assumption she would feel responsible. Any person whose bodyguard died saving them would feel the same.  
  
"What I can't figure out," Peter continued, "is why he's still hanging around. He could have made it out of the country by now."  
  
"Maybe he did. He could be on a beach somewhere, right now, having a good laugh over this."  
  
"Maybe, though that's not how Neal- Whoa." Peter sat up when he noticed a familiar figure cross the screen. "Did you see that?"  
  
Diana nodded. She had spent a few days on surveillance duty on the Milton case, and immediately recognized their guy. Her fingers already dancing across the keyboard as she readjusted the cameras to follow their new target.  
  
Peter was already on the phone. "Jones? Where are you?"  
  
Jones was tailing Milton tonight, supposedly.  
  
"Sorry, Peter. I lost him."  
  
"I think we just found him." Peter gave him the address. "Get over here."  
  
It was five minutes to four.  
  
Diana shook her head. "How's Milton linked to Caffrey?"  
  
"We'll soon find out." Peter raised his walkie-talkie to his lips. They didn't have enough against Milton for a warrant, but right now, they were chasing a fugitive. "All teams, prepare for takedown."  
  
#  
  
They didn't get Caffrey, but they did arrest Milton, catching him red-handed as he tried to sell a property he didn't even own.  
  
As the cuffed suspect was led away, Peter's phone rang. "Burke."  
  
"Peter."  
  
"Neal."  
  
Neal sounded cheerful. "Another win for Caffrey and Burke."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Zack Milton. You got your man, right?"  
  
Peter couldn't see the connection. "Neal, where are you?" Peter looked up and around, trying to spot Caffrey. He was obviously somewhere nearby.  
  
"I can help you, Peter. We've done it before, we can do it again."  
  
"So you say." Peter muted the phone for a quick moment, and caught his agent's attention. "Diana, tell NYPD I want the entire block shut down."  
  
Neal was still speaking. "So.. do we have a deal?"  
  
"You're a fugitive. I can't make a deal with you until you turn yourself in."  
  
"We've been through that, Peter. I'm not going to go back to jail."  
  
As much as Peter sympathized with the younger man, he had spent years stealing, and now he had to pay the price for it. "Neal, you can't run forever. We're going to catch you, and it's going to be much worse when we do. I need you to turn yourself in. I'll make sure you'll get a fair hearing, and-"  
  
"I helped you close a case, Peter. Doesn't that count for anything?"  
  
And then it hit Peter. The Milton file - he hadn't been able to find it the past few days. He was sure he'd left it by his bed, but it was nowhere to be found. There was only one way Neal could have known about the case and their suspect.  _He_  must have taken it. "You were in my house. You broke into my house."  
  
"I was helping you."  
  
"That's what you call B&E?"  
  
Peter had a way of focusing on the wrong things at the wrong time. Neal assumed it would be futile now to point out that he hadn't actually 'broken' in. He just did the 'entering' part.  
  
Peter inhaled slowly, trying to control his rising anger. "I already told you how you could help me. Turn yourself in."  
  
"You know I can't do that." A slight pause, and then, "Listen, I've got to go." Neal disconnected the call.  
  
Great. Peter turned to Diana. "Caffrey's in the area. I want a house-to-house search."  
  
"You got it, Boss."  
  
Peter looked around one more time before heading back to the van. He had closed one case, but he still had a fugitive to catch.


End file.
